


Stjernelys

by ottelis



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Meet-Cute, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Village AU, Wedding Night, and everyone is friends and gets along and accepts each other, and you see their story/how they met/where they are now, but basically everyone lives in this little village, but that's okay, every chapter will focus on a couple and how they show love to each other, everyone is happy, i hope y'all like this idyllic village au lol, im making it a thing, is that a thing?, kinda like the show lol, not realistic at all, this au is gonna be so soft and tender, very idealistic, waxing poetic, y'all ain't ready
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottelis/pseuds/ottelis
Summary: On a chilly morning in autumn, the townspeople of Stjernelys prepare for a wedding...or: an au where everyone lives in a cute little village and they all know each other and the whole town is going to noora and eva's wedding





	1. The Bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak and Even own a bakery in the small village of Stjernelys. As they bake Noora and Eva's wedding cake, they reflect on their own wedding day as well as their relationship and their love for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so excited for this au y'all i've had it in my head for a while and i hope y'all love it too!!

Everyone in the small, quiet village of Stjernelys agrees that the bakery on Main Street is the best bakery for miles. Their loaves of bread are always warm, soft, and fluffy. Their cakes are decadent and elegantly decorated. There's always a plate of cookies on the counter for people to take, free of charge. The owners of the bakery are well-known and very well-liked, often holding conversations with customers long after they buy what they need for the day.

The owners are Isak and Even, a young couple that lives in the apartment above the bakery. Everyone in Stjernelys also agrees that they're perfect for each other. Isak is usually quiet and reserved, his sandy curls falling over his brilliant green eyes as he speaks to customers with an unmatched gentleness and kindness. Isak usually stays at the counter, ringing up the customers with a soft smile. Even is gentle and kind like Isak, but he's also warm and outgoing. He's always smiling, making his diamond eyes shine even brighter than they did before. He's usually the one to talk to the customers from the kitchen, where he makes all the bread and pastries and cakes himself. He hums along to whatever record is playing on the gramophone they keep in the corner of the store. His laughter spills out into the air with the warmth of the ovens as Isak tells him stupid jokes from the counter. They complement each other through their love for the other, through the beauty they see in the world and the kindness with which they approach it. Them owning a bakery seems almost _too_ fitting for them, providing warmth and comfort for all who enter.

Isak and Even wake up just before dawn to get a head start on baking the first loaves of bread for the day. Sometimes, they wake up a bit late, throwing on their clothes and running down the stairs to get to the kitchen. Sometimes, they have a few minutes to be with each other, holding hands and playing with each other's hair. Today, a chilly, autumn Sunday, they sit by the window. Isak kisses Even's palm, kisses the spot where his pulse throbs in his wrist, plays connect-the-dots with the freckles on his arm. Even pulls Isak close and rubs his nose against his, resting his forehead against his. They don't speak, but every breath, every touch, says more than they ever could if they let any words slip off their tongues.

They stargaze for a moment, holding hands. The stars seem so much more beautiful in Stjernelys, hence its name: starlight. They seem to shine a little brighter; they seem a little closer, just inches away from one's fingertips. They seem to come in every color of the rainbow, from a soft yellow to a fierce blue. They seem to smile, laugh, sing, blush. The stars in Stjernelys are almost like people. And they love it in this small village. Why else would they shine brighter here, show their true colors?

_The stars remind me of him_, Isak thinks to himself.

_The stars remind me of him_, Even thinks, too.

Soon, the stars are blinking out, falling asleep for the day. And as the first rays of sunlight start to break over the horizon, Isak and Even decide to get to work.

Even goes into the kitchen, studying the sketch he's drawn on a scrap piece of paper. It's an elegant yet simple design for a wedding cake. Yet he commits every detail to memory until he can see the sketch in his mind when he closes his eyes. He runs the recipe through his mind a thousand times until he feels like he could make the entire cake blindfolded. He tries to ignore the thoughts his mind wants him to mull over: whether the cake will be good, or if he'd mess something up and have to start over, or if he'd drop it on the way to the wedding. He runs through the recipe again, goes over the sketch again to keep himself distracted. Thankfully, it works.

"Are you okay?" Isak asks suddenly, making Even jump. There's concern in his eyes, and Even can tell he's trying to hide it.

"Yeah," Even replies almost too quickly. "Just making sure everything will be perfect."

"It's gonna be perfect, baby," Isak smiles, leaning against the door to the kitchen. "Noora and Eva wouldn't ask you to make their cake if they didn't trust you to do it well. If anything, you should be worrying about _me_ messing something up."

"Why did I agree to let you help me again?" Even chuckles, teasing.

Isak's smile widens. "_We_ agreed that _you_ would do all the baking, and that _I_ would hand you things and help decorate it once it's out of the oven."

"I don't recall that conversation," Even replies, feigning confusion.

"Seriously, Even," Isak says, hugging him from behind. "You've had time to work everything out. You've done practice runs with this cake and you know it like the back of your hand. You're gonna make the best cake these people have ever had. Right?"

Even lets himself smile. "Right."

"Good," Isak whispers, burying his face in Even's shirt. He always smells like flour and vanilla and fire. Even _is_ heat, warmth.

"Thank you," Even murmurs back, his mind slightly at ease now.

"You're welcome, baby," Isak replies, kissing Even's neck softly. "I'm always here. Remember that."

"I will," Even promises. "I do."

"I love you, Even Bech Næsheim," Isak's small, sleepy voice mutters against Even's shirt. Even can feel him smiling.

"I love you, too, Isak Bech Næsheim," Even returns. 

Isak sighs. "I'll never get tired of hearing you say that."

"And I'll never get tired of saying it."

"All this makes me think about our wedding day," Isak mutters. His voice is sleepy, content, romantic. "A few weeks into spring. Not a cloud in the sky. Spare patches of snow melting and glittering in the grass. The sun shining all soft and friendly. You and I, as far as the sky, the stars can reach. You and I. Forever."

Even feels tears in his eyes. "Don't get all sappy on me, Isak."

"Tell me your favorite things about our wedding day," Isak says as Even turns to face him. 

Even starts running his hands through Isak's hair, tucking a curl behind his ear. "Knowing that every morning I would wake up and see your face and fall in love with you all over again. Knowing that every day I would get to hear your groggy voice, and see your bedhead, and look into your tired, sleepy eyes. Knowing that every day, from then and now until forever, I have a million and one opportunities to love you more than I already do."

Tears sparkle in Isak's eyes. He blushes, looking down at his feet. He's smiling, barely, but only because he's trying to keep himself from grinning. He gets that smile a lot around Even, and he rarely lets himself fully smile. Despite his best efforts, he grins so wide it almost reaches his ears. With a laugh, he chokes out, "What would I do without you?"

"What would _I_ do without _you_?" Even asks in return.

"What would _we_ do without _us_?" Isak counters, smirking playfully. But a small, happy tear is rolling down his cheek.

Even wipes it away, his hand lingering on Isak's cheek. He pulls him close, rubbing their noses together. Isak grins, taking it a step further and kissing Even. It's quick, soft, safe, comfortable.

When Isak pulls away, Even notices he's keeping his eyes closed. He smiles contentedly. Even smiles, too, pressing his forehead against Isak's. "What are you thinking about?"

"Our wedding," Isak replies. "Our first dance. I can hear the music in my head right now."

Even's smile widens as an idea pops into his head. "Keep your eyes closed, Isak."

"Why?" Isak asks, his face scrunching up like it always does when he's confused.

"Just trust me," Even answers. "I'll be right back."

"You're not proposing to me, are you?" Isak asks. "We're already married, Even. You don't need to propose to me again." 

"No," Even chuckles. He makes his way to the gramophone, quickly scanning their box of records. He pulls one out, taking the record out of the sleeve as quietly as he could. "Patience, Isak. It's a virtue."

"Yeah, and it's a virtue I don't have a lot of," Isak replies.

Even sets the record down and carefully drops the needle in the exact spot it needed to go. [Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwBEqupVOdc) fills the warm, quiet air of the bakery, and Isak's breath catches in his throat.

Even turns around, his heart melting when he sees the look on Isak's face, when he sees _Isak_. The way his hair is a bit curlier than usual on top of his head, the way his eyes are glistening and shining with tears of joy, the way his lips are trembling yet still smiling.

"It's our song," Isak says simply, his voice breaking.

"Well, the song is called '_Your_ Song' but," Even teases, taking a step closer to Isak.

"I _know_, Even," Isak laughs, rolling his eyes. "But it's _your_ song, too, right?"

Even wipes a tear from Isak's face. "It is," he smiles. He kisses Isak, longing, aching. Aching for a forever where those brilliant green eyes can keep shining, longing for an eternity where Isak's pink lips can keep smiling through his tears. But then he remembers that _this_ is his forever, the one he's wanted. That forever he'd long yearned for was there, it's here, and it's now.

_I think we'll be married forever_, Even once said on a stargazing morning. _Why should it stop at death?_

_I'd like that,_ Isak replies. Even can hear the smile in his voice. _And there _are_ parallel universes despite everything you say. Parallel universes go on forever, too. Therefore, so will we._

_"Therefore," _Even repeats, mimicking Isak's voice playfully. 

_Shut up,_ Isak chuckles, rolling his eyes. _It's true! There could be a French version of us, or Italian, or German. Maybe there's a lesbian version of us. Maybe there's some gay alien version of us out there somewhere in space. __You don't have to think or imagine or hope for us to go on forever. We will._

"There's so many memories in my head right now," Isak says, bringing Even back to the present. "You can't just throw 'Your Song' on me out of nowhere like that. I need _at least_ a day's notice."

"I'm getting the memories, too, Isak," Even replies. "The dance over in Kjærlighetssyk? I'll never forget the way you looked in that blue lighting. Your gaze was wandering through the crowd with a sadness that struck me so deeply I had to at least try to brighten it."

Isak blushes, chuckling lightly, sweetly. "And the second you asked me to dance with you, the song changed, and the light went all yellow and warm like the moon."

"You tried to waltz when 'Your Song' isn't even in 3/4 timing," Even laughs, feeling the ghosts of Isak's feet trampling over his. "You can only waltz when the song is in 3/4 timing."

"Eva had just taught me how to waltz," Isak justifies, his eyebrows shooting up. "I was _trying_ to impress you. Couldn't you tell?"

"You didn't need to," Even shook his head, almost in disbelief. "My heart started beating faster the moment I saw you. Then I was head over heels when I saw you smile. Then I was in love with you when I heard you singing the song under your breath. And I've been in love with you ever since."

"Even when I stepped on your toes?" Isak tries, a careful yet clumsy smile on his face.

Even nods. "Even when you stepped on my toes."

Isak kisses Even again as the first chorus swells behind them. Even can feel Isak weaving his fingers into his hair, tugging gently. He smiles against Isak's lips, trying to keep himself from saying "I love you" a thousand times. But he lets one, two, three slip through. He can feel the heat in Isak's cheeks, hear the blissful laughs he lets out. He wraps his arms around Isak's waist and picks him up and spinning around.

"Even!" Isak squeaks.

Even lets him down gently, and he can't hold back his giggles. "Sorry, baby."

Isak is still hugging Even, waiting for the dizziness to pass. "Remember when all my little notecards blew away while I was saying my vows?" he asks airily, still laughing.

"Your vows were better when you were improvising them," Even replies.

Isak's jaw drops. "I was on the verge of a panic attack!"

"They were better!" Even justifies, rubbing Isak's back. "'I promise to do all the dishes at the bakery. I promise to never complain about sweeping. I promise to not throw flour at you anymore.' _That's_ love, Isak."

Isak shrugs, sighing. "Yeah, but I thought the stuff I had on my notecards was pretty good. Was it not good?"

Even inhales sharply, biting his lip. "It could've been better."

Isak rolls his eyes. "Well I couldn't really live up to _yours_, Mr. Even 'You-Saved-My-Life' Bech Næsheim."

"You did!" Even chuckles.

"'I don't need those stars up in that sky up there because I get to spend the rest of my life with _you_, the brightest star,'" Isak mimics, bobbing his head. But he can't hold back his grin, his tears as he says, "How _dare_ you make me feel so dearly beloved?"

Even holds his hand to Isak's face, wiping away a single tear. "I could ask you the same thing, Isak."

Isak blushes as he stares up at Even. He places his hand on top of his, running his thumb across Even's knuckles. Then his eyes widen. "We still have to bake Noora and Eva's cake."

"We'll start when the song is over." Even proposes.

Isak smiles, too as he nods. "When the song's over."

Even smiles back, holding out his other hand. "Shall we dance?"

Isak nods, taking his hand. "We shall."

Isak has his free hand on Even's shoulder, and Even's is at Isak's waist. They step side to side, rubbing their noses together. Isak is still off time, but he doesn't step on Even's toes. Isak sings along quietly. He blushes every time his voice cracks, or every time he gets a note wrong. Even grins, kissing him quickly, softly. He sings along, too, but he isn't much better than Isak. But it makes Isak smile.

"Are you gonna cry later?" Even asks softly. "During the ceremony?"

"Of course," Isak chuckles. "Eva's my best friend. And Noora saved our wedding when my pants were suddenly too long and she did an emergency hemming in the aisle. And they're perfect for each other, just like we are."

"Do you think you'll cry as loudly as your mom did at our wedding?" Even teases.

"_Your_ mom was _just_ as loud as my mom, if not louder," Isak retorts. Smiling, he adds, "But yes. Probably. I'll be blowing obnoxiously into my handkerchief the whole time."

"I'll be there for you when it happens, baby," Even replies, playing along. "My shoulder will be armed and ready for all your tears and snot."

Isak rolls his eyes again, but it's _fond_, content somehow. "I'm gonna need it."

Even kisses Isak again, but he can't stop smiling. Isak is giggling as he pulls away. 

Even settles for holding Isak's hand to his lips, kissing his ring. "I love you," he says for the millionth time that day. _But it never gets old_, he thinks.

"I love you, too," Isak says back. It doesn't get old for him, either.

A playful smile spreads across Even's face. "I love you more."

Isak rolls his eyes. "Be quiet."

Even shakes his head. "I'll never shut up about you, Isak."

A light, a spark flashes in Isak's eyes as his face softens. "Never?" 

"Not until the whole world knows how much I love you," Even replies, his voice getting quiet, reverent. "Or better yet, the whole universe. And all your little parallel ones. I'll give the stars your name then they'll whisper it throughout space until it reaches every inch, every branch."

"That's the thing," Isak smiles, staring into Even's eyes fondly. "_You're_ my whole universe. You're _all_ my universes," Isak licks his lips like he does when he's trying to find the right words. "Every single one, Even. The one we live in, the one the French us live in, the one the German us live in, all of them. _Every single universe_."

Even is crying now, too. He wraps Isak in his arms, pecking his shoulder. "Are they all beautiful? Your universes."

"Of course," Isak answers, holding Even tighter. "They're beautiful when they're slow and dark, they're beautiful when their stars collide and explode, they're beautiful when they're still. They're all beautiful, no matter what. Because I love them. And I love you. I love, love, love you."

Even sniffles, suddenly dreading the moment the song will end and they'll have to move on through the day. _If only I could engrave this memory into the stars, water the flowers with it, weave it into every ray of sunshine that will ever fall upon the earth_, the thought echoing around his skull and enveloping his lonely, lonely mind.

"I love, love, love you, too," Even returns, breathing in Isak's smell, his warmth, the sound of his heart and the feel of his skin. "Maybe I'll believe in parallel universes now."

Isak chuckles. Even can hear he's emotional, too. "It's about time you accepted the truth. But, hey. Better late than never, right?"

Even nods, grinning.

As the final chorus fills the room, they rub their noses together, rest their foreheads against each other. They're close, their lips barely touching. Isak leans in a little, kissing Even as easily and as comfortably as if it was breathing, blinking. Even always wonders how Isak makes loving look so easy, but it feels just as simple when he kisses him, too. He sometimes feels like he was born to kiss Isak.

Even remembers their first kiss as husbands. It was almost exactly like this. It was like coming home, like that first, slow breath you take when you first wake up. It was _real_. It was _true_. The whole day felt like a fairytale, but the moment they kissed, they were grounded again, anchored to each other.

_In this moment,_ Even thinks, _I'm kissing Isak Bech Næsheim, my husband. I'm kissing him in our bakery in Stjernelys, Norway. It's October, and the wind has a particular bite to it this morning. Isak is warm like bread fresh out of the oven. He smells like soap and sleep. He tastes like sleep, too. He's drowsy yet sweet as ever. We have a wedding to go to, a cake to bake for it. Our song is playing. We're together._

The record startles into a soft static as the song ends. Even is almost afraid to breathe, but his heart is beating so hard he's afraid it'll explode.

_This is what he does to me_, he thinks to himself, smiling.

"I guess we have to make the cake now," Isak mutters.

"We do," Even agrees. "Can you start by grabbing the butter out of the fridge? I forgot to leave it out to soften."

Isak chuckles. "You're forgetful, Even. But I love you for it."

Isak kisses Even again, so quick Even almost doesn't realize it's happening. He watches Isak as he walks through the kitchen, humming their song.

In that moment, sunlight filters through the window, bathing Isak in a soft, white light. The dust in the air flies around him frantically, as if he was the source of the light they were craving. He has a small, pure smile on his face. He's content.

Even smiles, too. _I get to fall in love with him every second until forever ends._

"Even?" Isak beckons, waiting patiently with the butter. His smile widens. "Are you staring at me?"

"Yeah," Even admits, nodding. "Sorry. Let's make this wedding cake, yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment or a kudos if you liked this first chapter! i can't wait for y'all to read more omg
> 
> if you want updates on this story or want to know me better or something idk lol you can follow me on tumblr @kardamommegf! 
> 
> thank y'all so much for your support!!


	2. The Flower Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bakkoush Family own a flower shop in Stjernelys, Norway. They're in charge of all the floral arrangements for Noora and Eva's wedding. Sana volunteers to do them herself, but Yousef, one of her brother, Elias's good friends, decides that he wants to help. They discuss love, religion, and flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been approximately 20 years and im so sorry lol. i've been super busy and working on other projects, but i reread the first chapter of this fic and just felt such an urge to write the next chapter. hopefully you enjoy it!!

Everyone in the small, quiet village of Stjernelys agrees that the flower shop on the edge of town has the best flowers for miles. The colors are lively and vibrant, from the deepest red to the brightest white. The smells of each flower marry together beautifully in the cozy, little shop; a thousand perfumes melting into one heavenly, earthly scent. They make and sell pots for people to purchase along with their flowers, made from rosy clay and handpainted with intricate, lovely designs. They have a display wall with packets of seed samples, complete with instructions and tips to help your garden become as beautiful as it can be. They believe in the power of the earth, the power of the things that grow from its molten, swelling core. They believe in sharing that power, and helping it touch everyone that needs it. It's one of the most beloved shops in the village.

The flower shop is owned by the Bakkoush family, a family from Morocco that is as warm and lovely as a blooming, summer garden. Mr. Bakkoush is beginning to grow old, and isn't seen much around the shop anymore. But his wife and children, Elias and Sana, are hardworking and proud of their little shop. Mrs. Bakkoush is kind and motherly, and always willing to take you on a tour of each individual flower in the shop if you ask her to. Elias is a young boy, bright and energetic, and spends most of his time making conversation with the customers, making them laugh and smile. Sana, quiet and brilliant, does whatever needs to be done. She helps her mother make the clay pots, she writes the instructions for certain seed packets, rings up customers, and cleans up any spilt dirt or broken pot shards. They work together well, communicating and staying patient with one another. 

Today, a chilly, autumn Sunday, Elias and Mrs. Bakkoush are getting a bit more rest, while Sana is already getting to work. They've been asked to do all the floral arrangements for Noora and Eva's wedding, and Sana gladly volunteered to take care of everything. Noora and Eva are two of her closest, dearest friends, and she couldn't imagine letting anyone else give them their flowers for their wedding day. They've already been to the flower shop and picked out the kind of flowers they want, and they've asked Sana to meet them in the fields in a few hours to help pick wildflowers for their bouquets. 

She can't help but smile as she gathers the flowers in bunches and cinches them together with ribbon. The colors blend so well! The pale yellow bleeding in the veins of the white lilies, the blush of the golden carnations, the elegance of the white rose and the velvet of the red rose! She imagines how it'll complement the brassy hue of the fields, the steely gray of the sky. _What a beautiful day to get married,_ she thinks wistfully. _What a beautiful day to be in love._

She has the first bunch of flowers ready when she looks up and sees someone walking by. She stops in her tracks, her heart stumbles into an erratic rhythm. It's Yousef. Elias's best friend, the boy Sana has been enchanted by for years. What's he doing here?

He notices her, then, smiling and waving through the window. Sana feels her cheeks blush at his crooked, boyish handsomeness. He gestures to the door, asking her to let him inside. She quickly glances over her shoulder, but none of her family members are stirring. She sighs, considering, but unlocks the door for him, letting him inside.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning?" she asks him, trying to put on her brave, cold front.

But he still smiles at her, looks at her warmly. "Visiting you and your family."

She sighs, resting her hand at her hip. "Well, the others are asleep right now. And I'm getting everything ready for the wedding."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Am I bothering you, then?"

She straightens, shaking her head. "Oh, no. You're not."

_Come on, Sana,_ she scolds herself. But the words have already left her mouth.

He smiles again, clumsy, letting out a chuckle. "Okay. Do you need help with anything, then?"

"No," she replies just as quickly, giving him one of her smug, fake smiles. "Thank you."

Confusion flickers across his face, but he recovers with another smile. "Am I just company, then? Someone to talk to?"

She considers him, then concedes. "You can be."

His smile widens, his eyes squinting and the skin around them wrinkling. Sana feels herself blush again, so she turns away from him and returns to the flowers. She pulls each one out carefully, taking a moment to feel its stem, its petals. She hears Yousef sigh behind her, and she feels the smallest pang of guilt.

"So," he begins, sounding almost nervous. "Are you excited for Noora and Eva's wedding?"

"Of course," she replies, carefully retrieving a white lily. "Are you? I know you and Noora had a bit of a thing going on once."

"We did," he admits. "But her and Eva are a much better match than her and I could've been. I'm happy for her, and for them. I hope I marry someone that I love more than anything in the world."

Sana feels a twinge in her chest. Something like shame. She shrugs it off. "You would marry someone even if you know they're not the one you're meant to be with?"

He's silent for a moment. "I don't know. I hope not."

Sana notices the way his voice is quieter, not as sure. "We were taught that marriage is one of the most sacred things we can take part of. And I know you don't believe in Allah, Yousef, but I hope you still believe that part of His word and hold it close to your heart."

She turns to him, and there's surprise on his face. When their eyes meet, he _shrinks_, his shoulders slumping inward. "I do."

She smiles at him, a small one, a sad one. "I'm glad."

He sighs. "Are you mad at me, Sana? Did I do something? Did I say something?"

Sana takes a deep breath, turning her attention back to the flowers. "I'm not mad at you."

"What is it, then?" he asks carefully.

_I love you, I want to, but I can't_, she wants to shout, confess. But she doesn't. "I just don't understand how people can agree to marry each other when they know deep down it won't last forever."

"Do things _need_ to last forever to make you happy?" Yousef counters, almost making Sana's blood boil.

"No, but marriage isn't some trivial thing. It's not just a beautiful ceremony and a whimsical honeymoon. It's a commitment, a promise. Don't you agree?"

"I do," Yousef answers, and she can tell he's being honest.

She sighs heavily, returning to the counter to wrap up the bunch she's collected. She doesn't want to look at him. She can almost _see_ the look he must have on his face right now. His eyebrows knit ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest frown. He always gets that look on his face whenever their conversations start to turn sour. He probably doesn't even realize that he's doing it. It's borderline infuriating. 

"You're right, Sana," he continues, taking a step closer to her.

"Of course I am," she quips coldly.

She decides to look up at him, and there's _defeat_ written on his face. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Sana pauses for a moment. "It's okay," she finally replies. She finishes tying up her current bunch and returns to the flowers, keeping her back turned to Yousef. She doesn't have time for all this. She doesn't have time for their little arguments, or his soft eyes. She doesn't have time to fall in love with him every time he smiles, or even looks at her. She doesn't have time for him. She wishes he would leave the store. She wishes he would just keep his distance for once. She wishes he would just hang out with Elias and leave her be. But at the same time, she wants him nearby. She wants to peel carrots with him in the kitchen again, watch him dance to his favorite songs again, play basketball with him again. For her, he represents the divide she always feels when she looks in the mirror. Her beliefs and her wants. Norway and Morocco. Islam and everything else in the world. Maybe that's why she loves him. A taste of both worlds. The thrill of barely crossing a line, a border. And maybe that's why she hates him, just a little. The flavors not mixing together well. The fear of getting hurt, getting burnt.

"I really am sorry," he adds, growing desperate. _What is he after? Why is he here?_

"I already said that it's okay," she says, pulling out a white rose. She sighs, twirling it between her fingers. "You really are too kind, Yousef. It's frustrating. You're almost perfect."

"Almost?" he repeats, his voice unreadable this time.

"Almost," she confirms, moving on to the red roses. "Yes."

"Do you think I could ever be perfect?" he asks her, the slightest bit of hope lingering there.

"Maybe," she answers, trying to stay vague, detached. It's safer that way.

"What do I have to do?"

She finds the white lilies, not responding. She decides to say, "I don't think that's up to me to decide."

She hears his footsteps, his huffing breaths. His voice breaking, he tells her, "Decide, anyway."

She freezes. "I can't, Yousef."

"Yes, you can," he urges, stepping forward to where he's standing next to her. "Tell me anything, and I'll do it."

She hates the question that comes into her mind, but she asks it anyway. "Do you think you could ever believe in Allah again?"

He sighs, rubbing his chin. His nervous habit. "I don't know, Sana."

"I'm not being fair, am I?" she mutters, staring at the lilies. 

He doesn't say anything, but she swears she sees him shake his head weakly. She considers for a moment.

"For right now," she begins. "You'll be perfect if you agree that we should stop talking about all this. I'll let you help me with the flowers. Then that'll be it."

He manages a smile. "That's it?"

She can't help but smile, too. "That's it."

"What do you need, Ms. Bakkoush?" he asks, his smile widening. 

"Six white lilies on the outside, five red roses, four white roses, then three orange carnations in the middle," she tells him, grinning back.

"Very autumnal," he replies. "I like it."

"Thank you," she chuckles. "It _is_ October. And Noora and Eva picked the flowers out. And they should be here soon. I'm helping them pick out wildflowers for their bouquets."

"Will I be here by myself, then?" he asks. "After you leave with them?"

"Not unless we get these done before they get here," she replies with a challenging raise of her eyebrow. "Think we can do it?"

"I think so," Yousef agrees. "The dynamic duo is back, huh?"

"i think so," Sana repeats. "Now, get to work."

"Yes, ma'am," Yousef salutes, running to the carnations.

Sana chuckles as she shakes her head. He's goofy, but kind. He's awkward, but sweet. He's a mess. A jubilant, youthful mess. A beautiful mess. He makes Sana smile, and he makes her heart race, but he also makes her cry, and he makes her question and doubt everything she knows. She feels like she can't help but love him.

She watches him run around the flower shop, carefully setting up every arrangement he put together. He glances back at her sometimes and asks her if he's doing it correctly. 

"Stop worrying," she tells him, laughing and nodding. "You're doing great."

He beams at her, handing her his newest completed bouquet. She takes them, admiring them for a moment. She raises an eyebrow at him teasingly, but she melts into laughter. "You should start working here, Yousef," she says. "You've got a talent."

"And intrude on the Bakkoush family business?" Yousef replies. "I could never."

"Relax," she laughs again. "You're practically already part of the family. You and all of Elias's other friends. Mamma and Pappa should honestly just adopt all of you right now."

"So you're saying I'm required to work here now?" Yousef asks, trying to be serious, but he can't hide his smile.

"Yes," Sana nods, failing to maintain her apathetic air, too. "Yes, I am."

"Okay," Yousef nods. "I'm an employee now. Where's my name badge?"

"You're not getting one yet," Sana replies, scoffing playfully. "You have to _earn_ it first."

Yousef laughs for a second, but recovers and schools his expression into an offended one. "_Earn_ it? What do you mean _earn _it?"

"For now," Sana begins, plucking a white rose from the bouquet in his hand. "You are my Errand Boy. Once you prove obedient and hardworking, you'll get your name badge, and I'll call you Yousef again."

He snatches the flower back, carefully putting it back into place. "All right, then. Your wish is my command, Ms. Bakkoush."

"Give me the bouquet in your hand and go make me some tea, Errand Boy," Sana commands.

"What kind of tea, Ms. Bakkoush?" he asks, his serious, Errand Boy persona disappearing as Yousef looks at her with such compassion, such kindness, Sana feels her breath catch in her throat.

"Green," she manages. She wonders if her front is falling apart, too.

"I'll do it, Ms. Bakkoush," he nods, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He hands her the bouquet, and their hands brush for the slightest, most heart-stopping moment. His skin is warm, soft, even in passing, even in its ghostly whispers. Sana wills the blush rising in her cheeks to retreat, or at least pale enough to where no one will notice that it's there. She nods back at him, then turns her attention back to the flowers.

She can feel him looking at her over his shoulder as he walks away, finding his way up to the apartment above the shop.

What is she going to do about him? 

She sighs, but it shocks into a gasp when she hears the door open and the bell ring. She sighs again when she sees Eva and Noora smiling at her, holding hands.

"You scared me," Sana chuckles, clutching the bouquet a little tighter in her hand.

"Is that the floral arrangements?" Noora asks, her voice quiet and sweet as always. She steps towards Sana, gently touching some of the petals. "It looks beautiful, Sana. Even better than it did when we picked it out."

"The flowers are doing amazing this season," Sana replies. "I think they're happy for you two."

"Sana," Noora coos. "Thank you so much. Seriously. We love it."

"Anything for two of my best friends," Sana beams. 

"We'll do the floral arrangements at your wedding," Eva proposes, looking up at Noora and smiling.

Sana's smile falters, hearing Eva's words, seeing the pure adoration in her eyes as she looks at Nora. She recovers and hopes neither of them notice the chink in her armor. "I'd love that."

"You're gonna find the perfect boy, Sana," Eva adds, her voice, her face softening. "I know you will."

_He's _almost_ perfect,_ Sana thinks. 

"I know," Sana agrees, nodding. She widens her smile, shedding her armor and putting on a different kind. An armor that keeps her heart from speaking how it really feels, and keeps her lips from tugging into a frown. Quickly, she decides she'll leave a note for Yousef, thanking him for the tea and for the help with the flowers. Not so quickly, she decides that she's more in love with him than she thought. She raises her eyebrows excitedly for good measure as she asks Noora and Eva, "So, are you two ready to pick some wildflowers?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a kudos or a comment if you like!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ottelis for skam/remakes related content and updates on this and all my other fics!
> 
> thank you so so much for reading!! have a good day/night/week and please stay safe and healthy!


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